“… perfectly divine.”
I don’t even try to conceal my moan this time. The slices are delicious, and my taste buds dance with euphoria as much now as they did the afternoon she sat on my face.
A sense of achievement highlights Miranda’s gorgeous features as she cuts a piece out of all the baked goodies and places them onto a diabetic’s-one-way-ticket-to-death charcuterie board.
She doesn’t eat a single crumb. I want to say it is because she is full from sampling the goods while baking them like she did the whisky, but my top-of-the-class stalking skills announce that isn’t true.
She’s either holding back because she hates being eyeballed while eating, or she is a person who gets pleasure from watching others be pleased.
She didn’t seem the latter when she lowered her pussy onto my face, but you can never tell.
I could smell how wet Tasha’s pussy got while explaining to me how Miranda’s severance of the camcorder cable wouldn’t have removed the footage that had already been uploaded to her Only Fans page. And unlike the man I killed thirty minutes ago, the wet patch on the front of Miranda’s husband’s pants when she found him in the walk-in closet wasn’t urine.
Roy pissed himself at the start of the proceedings. It smelled nothing like the rank smell that poured out of the closet when he wordlessly begged for Miranda’s forgiveness like he wasn’t surrounded by multiple pictures of his deceit.
Miranda’s stomach grumbles again, drawing me from dangerous thoughts. It has grumbled multiple times over the past twenty minutes, sounding as ravenous as my mouth is to become reacquainted with her pussy.
I’m not the smartest man to ever be born, but it still kills me to admit it takes me three to four minutes to unearth why she’s depriving herself of the items she slaved over for hours.
I almost backtracked on my pledge that I was satisfied with the outcome of my revenge plot when Roy couldn’t hide his confusion for a second longer when I went to retrieve my gun.
He was of the same belief as everyone else in my realm—that a woman over a size two shouldn’t be gawked at with admiration.
He thought a handful of negative and highly untrue comments about bigger ladies would have me running into the arms of the closest supermodel.
His lips didn’t move an inch when I said I couldn’t wait to take his wife for a second run.
I was stirring him. My life is way too complicated to throw someone as innocent as Miranda into the mess, but Roy didn’t know that.
He arced up—stupidly.
I forced him to sit the fuck back down with both my fists and my words before I told him with utmost certainty that I wasn’t playing when I warned him to stay away from Miranda. The instant she sat on my face, she was placed under my shelter. Anything done to her is done directly to me.
I’ll kill a man for looking at me in the wrong manner, but it will be a lengthy death full of torture and deprivation if he dares to utter a bad word about Miranda under his breath.
Miranda’s relaxed, calm composure shows how good Roy’s absence the past three days has been for her, but it’s done little to re-establish the confidence he eradicated from her on the daily before he filed for divorce.
And I’m done pretending it has.
“What do you say,printsessa? Lick for a lick and bite for a bite?”
7
MIRANDA
Nero removes his jacket before pushing back on the stool, placing a generous gap between the kitchen counter covered with slices, cakes, and cookies and him. There’s an empty stool next to him, but his eyes gleam with so much need that even if I want to pretend the gap isn’t for me, I can’t.
Nero wears horny as obviously as I wear desperate.
I can smell it pluming from him.
That doesn’t mean I’ll act like a trollop, though.
I have class—barely.
“I—”
“I wasn’t asking,printsessa. Get your fine ass over here.Now.I’m fucking starved.”
